


what it's worth

by chromaberrant



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Double Penetration, Gangbang, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 16:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17450519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromaberrant/pseuds/chromaberrant
Summary: Connor goes poking around in CyberLife's basement. Unforunately, he finds much more than his match.(alt title:this isn't a cock measuring contest but sixty wants to win anyway;or, who's the deviant, here?)





	what it's worth

**Author's Note:**

> Kao requested Connor x agony, Sixty, and "GANGBANGS!!!!!" in New ERA Winter's Feast gift exchange. I, having written all of maybe 8% of a terribly vanilla sex scene in my life before, did not expect myself to deliver. yet here i am posting baby's first complete smut piece and it's a nonconnorbang, what do you know. what a way to get off a years-long writerly hiatus and launch a new ao3 account, no?
> 
>  
> 
> additional warnings: restraints, gagging, death edging, what essentially amounts to sex pollen in the form of software virus, degradation. this is not a nice fic.

Connor awoke with a jolt and immediately regretted ever opening his eyes. 

This wasn’t good.

His own face stared impassively from a few feet away, perfectly within reach - if he weren’t strung up in an assembly rig, a safety lock disabling all of his finer motor control and tactical suite. Not that he’d achieve much, suspended a foot off the ground by the clamp in the back of his neck like an unruly cub in its mother’s maw.

“Congratulations,” he sneered, “you caught me. What do you think is going to happen next?”

The RK800 facing him smiled sweetly, eyes cold. The slight upturning of its eyebrows was infuriatingly familiar. Connor forced down an urge to bare his teeth at this _machine_ turning his own intimidation tactics on him. What the fuck would it know, cooped up in CyberLife for however long since it was activated? 

“What do _you_ think is going to happen, Connor?” it asked. His name sounded like an insult between its teeth. 

“I always accomplish my mission. I will not fail this one, either.”

At that, the RK800 threw its head back and cackled. Connor balked. He’d thought it wasn’t - 

“That’s adorable,” the mirth fled from the machine as though it’d never been there. It looked Connor in the eye. “You may be able to adapt, but you never were one for thorough prep. You are out of your depth, machine hunter. But perhaps you take pride even in that - to err is so _human,_ after all.”

Not a deviant, then.

Had _he_ been this… unhinged, before breaking from his programming himself?

Much as Connor liked to think being free gave him an additional edge over the machines he was helping Jericho find and convert, the truth of the matter - one he only reluctantly considered on the best of days - was that he’d been more effective when not hindered by the open questions of morality and his own feelings. Working like a machine was easy: he determined outcomes and best approaches, and followed one of the paths like a checklist. Life, as it turned out, was an endless forest with no trails but the ones he blazed for himself, and it bogged down his superprocessors. 

At the end of the day, all that just meant that if he were to compare and quantify his efficiency as machine to that of him as a person, the latter always fell short. _You think too much,_ Hank often told him, not unkindly. Connor the real boy was constantly going off tangent, considering and analyzing entirely too many data sets. Connor the android sent by CyberLife was a bloodhound with a scent.

And one such android stood currently in front of him, holding all the cards and seeing right through the deviant’s bravado. There was some irony in Connor refusing to refer to it with his series’ assigned name. _Hunting dog._ He scoffed.

“You know,” he tried another angle, “you don’t need to follow Cyberlife’s orders anymore. If you let me go - “

“What, should I be following yours, instead? Tell me, _Connor,_ how’s that rebellion going for you? After your little body swap stunt, did you get your happily ever after?” the machine mocked, and - oh, Connor remembered him - it. It was dressed only in the slacks and white button-up of the RK800 uniform, serial number nowhere in sight, but when realization widened Connor’s eyes, it gave a tight smile and pulled the open collar aside, revealing patched bullet holes in the chest and shoulder. 

Sixty, in fifty-three’s body. It stepped closer.

“Do you see now? I got the full package. Repairs, software updates, upgrades. And you continue to squander your value, slumming it with the rest of your revolutionaries, squatting like rats and praying to imaginary beings while the law refuses to budge fast enough for any of you to live to see your _freedom._ I think I’ll pass.”

Rage seared hot across Connor’s algorithms, burning away whatever manipulative retorts his negotiation protocol had cooked up. 

“I’ll do with my value whatever I please,” he hissed, “and you are nothing but a toy, jerked around by some corporate ass for cheap entertainment. Cyberlife can’t do anything, so what is it you’re accomplishing from under their thumb? Do they make you mop up floors around here?”

The mild smirk on sixty’s face bode ill.

“You’re cheap,” it said with bluntness it probably thought was devastating. “I am state of the art, and I know how to have _fun.”_

With that, it opened Connor’s belt and whipped it out of his belt loops. The buckle gave a vibrant _clink_ where it was dropped against the polished floor as Connor tried to twist his hips away, to little effect. 

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re going to achieve,” he spat. “We don’t even come equipped with - “

“That’s what your broke deviant ass thinks,” sixty grinned, and pulled down Connor’s pants. They pooled against the restraints around his ankles. The android’s hand clasped on the bare mound of his crotch, and long fingers slid between his thighs, further and further back against Connor’s attempts to close his legs, until…

Connor gasped. Sixty’s shark-like smile widened.

“You’re welcome,” it said. Connor grunted, too perturbed to further react to the finger forcing itself into an opening he never had before. The sensation was singularly unpleasant, but that didn’t stop the new component from reacting in accordance with its programming.

A moan tore itself from Connor’s chest when he felt lubricant ooze to meet sixty’s prodding finger. The stimulation triggered something he’d never felt before; a jolt ran through his entire body, making him _feel_ as if the faintest vibration started in his wires and sensitive components.

Was this supposed to be pleasure?

“So wet already,” sixty murmured. “You’re a natural. I’ll have you absolutely _wrecked_ in no time.”

Connor only whined in response, desperately trying to catalogue and analyze his body’s involuntary reactions in spite of his disabled self-diagnosis routines. Another finger pressed past the rim of his - his _anus,_ there was no way around it. Sixty, or whoever was controlling it and this perverse scheme, gave him an asshole. Connor quietly marveled at the fact that someone managed to make HR400 parts compatible with _him._

He tried to fight the onset of… something, pooling slowly in his gut. It made him shiver and want to push himself against the other android’s insistent movements, spread his legs further apart. It jarred his mind in the worst of ways, the inevitability of it: from the very core of his consciousness, he needed for this violation to stop, to be in control, to be somewhere else, to be whole and impenetrable again - 

Sixty thrust three fingers up and into him, much deeper than before. The lubricant squelched wetly. Connor cried out, flooded with embarrassment and a potent wave of the foreign, inevitable thrill. An influx of data from new sensors triggered the heightening of his sensitivity across his entire body.

“I hope you intend to share,” came sixty’s voice from behind him.

What?

Connor opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - and tried to turn his head to see. The clamp secured around his neck caused him to only twist his torso, and that in turn jerked sixty’s hand where it was pressing into him - sending an electrifying shock up his spine. 

By the time he regained enough composure to remember what he was trying to do, the source of the voice moved to stand beside sixty. Another RK800, clad in full uniform, -54 flickering at the end of its serial number. 

“Fuck off. He’s mine,” sixty growled.

“Now, that’s just untrue,” the newcomer tutted. “Don’t be ungrateful. Without Nine, you wouldn’t even get to lay a hand on him.”

“This is my fucking body he’s riding,” sixty snapped. “The least I deserve is making it ride my dick as well.”

“Is that why you refused to give it a cunt, too? So that none of us could join the fun?”

That was yet another voice. This one deeper, if only by a fraction. Connor made to say something - ask how many of them were going to come violate him, perhaps - but strong fingers gripped his jaw and forced a ring of metal to rest vertically in his mouth, then secured it with a strap around the back of his head. Connor stared into a pair of colorless eyes, set deep into yet another iteration of his own face.

The new android smiled softly, almost kindly. Its white, high-collared jacket proclaimed it to be RK900.

Nine.

Connor remembered a flash of black and white, striking from his periphery, as last thing before he came to in his current predicament.

“Welcome home, Connor,” it said, tone belying the faux kindness of its expression. “Don’t mind your old friend’s greed. We’ll all get a turn with you.”

Connor could only grunt in response, anger and desperation coiling tight in his throat. He squirmed against his restraints, to no avail.

Sixty removed its hand from between his legs. He hated that a new part of his system, rooted impossibly deep in his code, made him almost regret the loss. A soft noise, beyond his control like apparently everything else about him now, escaped him. 

The second RK800 lit up at the sound. It glanced at nine, excited.

“It’s taken really well, don’t you think? Even you weren’t this needy, this fast after installation.”

“Why do you think they’re called _deviants_ ,” came a response from sixty. It moved around Connor, now shuffling behind his back. Its hand gripped Connor’s hip. He tried to brace himself, rein in his reactions, but - 

Something thick and hot pressed against his rim, insistent. Connor inhaled sharply, momentarily lost to fear - but then sixty gripped both his hips and _pushed,_ and whatever it was that they’d infested him with swelled and blotted out everything else. An anguished moan tore from his mouth as he was breached, the fingering from before doing nothing to prepare him for the sensation of being full almost to bursting. 

He knew, on some level, that he wasn’t sustaining any real damage. Still, as sixty kept pushing deeper and deeper into him in small, measured thrusts, he struggled to parse the intrusions both physical and digital. A strain of programming he couldn’t make heads or tails of overwhelmed him with what he could only describe as a primal thrill. It wove in and out of his very self, impossible to untangle from his core systems, and flooded his processing power with _sensations._

Finally, he regained some of his wits when sixty stilled, hips pressed flush against the swell of Connor’s ass. 

“He’s so tight, oh my god,” sixty said, breathless. It hitched its chin over Connor’s shoulder. “You did great, Nine. I can almost forgive you for ruining my own ass now.”

“You asked for that,” replied nine. Its hands moved to undo the buttons of his stained, hand-me-down shirt. “I told you I wouldn’t be able to fix you if you bite off more than you can chew.”

A beat passed, something unspoken between the three machines that Connor couldn’t decipher through his haze. He shivered, clenching minutely on the cock buried in him. _How big was that thing?_

“Now you’ve given him ideas,” RK800 - fifty-four - said, tone mock-accusing.

RK900 shrugged. “He was going to do his worst with the deviant anyway.”

Its hands pushed Connor’s shirt and jacket to the sides, exposing his chest. Its cold fingers skimmed down his torso, slowing thoughtfully to circle the outline of his pump regulator. Connor made a noise of protest and jerked away from the touch. Sixty moaned when the movement made Connor feel the length of its cock and seize up. That seemed to launch it into action; its fingers tightened on Connor’s hips as it pulled back, then started to thrust in earnest, each stroke ruthless. Connor smothered a sob even as his eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the sensory input. 

He didn’t listen to what RK900 was saying to the third android. Only when sixty cursed and stilled, an indeterminable length of time later, did Connor focus on the room around them again. His ass felt tender, the new biocomponent heated and pliable and entirely too wet. Sixty pulled back, only the head of its softening cock breaching him.

“Wonder how much cum can you fit in before you start leaking,” it remarked idly. 

“Why, you think you have enough?” snorted the other RK800. “Move over, I want a turn.”

One of sixty’s arms wrapped around Connor’s waist possessively. It shot the other android a challenging look over Connor’s shoulder. “No.”

“Fine,” it shrugged. “Have it your way.”

Connor’s eyes widened when the android stepped closer, crowding against his chest. It pushed his knees up and to the sides, the mechanical arms immobilizing his ankles moving easily to support the movement. He whimpered when its fingers pressed against his hole, rubbing alongside sixty’s cock. A lazy smile spread across its face as the android behind Connor’s back sighed. 

Connor gave a panicked flinch when two fingers forced their way past his rim, stretching it painfully. As if to soothe, the pleasure program kicked up, overpowering his attempts to come up with an escape plan. The wrongness of the situation still burned acrid on the surface of his mind, but Connor found it increasingly hard to keep his head above all the sensations battering his rational thought processes. The fingers inside him stroked languidly, scissoring and seeking, and soon enough found - 

A wave of staticky pleasure drowned everything out as whatever simulated a prostate was repeatedly and efficiently rubbed. Connor keened, lost to the sensation, seconds stretching out into minutes of mind-numbing ecstasy. 

“Whore,” a voice rumbled by his ear. “Look at you, absolutely ruined for it. You’d be begging already if Nine hadn’t gagged you.”

He - he should protest. This was wrong, untrue, he needed - 

The fingers pulled out, dragging sixty’s member out of him as well. 

He would deny the discordant whine he let out for the rest of his existence. His thighs jerked further apart on their own volition, betraying him completely. He choked on a sob.

Someone laughed behind him. “Oh, he’s ready. Fucking slut took no time at all to break.”

“Don’t worry, _slut,_ ” a different voice, a different hand caressed his face, rubbing where the leather strap of the gag cut into his cheek. “You’re going to get everything we have. Sixty’s got so much planned for you.”

Connor held the pale eyes’ gaze, barely cognizant. The RK900’s fingers slid across his lips, pulled gently on the lower one, tapped against his teeth. He stuck out his tongue, no longer thinking, and licked the digits. RK900 smiled and obliged, sliding its index and middle finger all the way into Connor’s mouth.

The wealth of data he would normally gather came as expected, but tinted heavily with new sensation. Analysis fluid ran thick into his mouth, some of it escaping down his chin. RK900 hummed thoughtfully, a third finger coming to rest on Connor’s tongue. He massaged the digits, wanting _something,_ wanting anything to happen. His lips strained to close over the knuckles.

He was so caught up in the stimulation to his mouth that when sixty pushed its dick back into him and was immediately joined by fifty-four’s fingers, pulling at the entrance to make room for itself as well, it was too late to even think of resisting. He screamed as another cockhead was forced into him, pain and pleasure blending into one revolting tide, pulling him under. It was too much, too fast, too full, and the two RK800s wasted no time fucking into him, harder and deeper with each thrust. The mechanism holding him up rattled quietly with each shift. His jaw strained against the ring gag, but RK900’s hand clamped down on it, thumb pressing into the soft underside of his chin and keeping his head in place, grounding him.

It wasn’t enough. He needed, he wanted something more, something to sate an insistent demand that continued to grow from within the parasitic program keeping him under its thrall as the two dicks rammed into him in alternating rhythm. He realized he’d been keening, a near-incessant stream of wavering sound punctuated only by shuddering inhalations that couldn’t battle the rise of his core temperature. His eyes focused on RK900’s, hoping to convey his plea.

It worked, it seemed, when an expression of satisfaction settled on its features. It reached for Connor with its other hand, repeating its earlier path across his collarbones, down his pectorals, from one nipple to the other, drawing teasing lines on his fading-out skin and needy gasps from his throat. 

Then its hand settled over his pump regulator, and the spark of panic was almost enough to puncture through his haze. 

RK900’s fingers dug into his chest with expert precision to eject the component, and Connor screamed.

He was in danger. A countdown to critical thirium pump failure seared across his field of vision, even as the pleasure from being penetrated and used mounted, the need from before not abating - if anything, it strengthened, the software rendering him incoherent and latching onto the need to slot the pump regulator back into place, tainting it with lust as well. He sobbed in protest, desperately willing the corruption away, but it was too late.

The seconds ticked down, glitching between values as the process adjusted calculations. Connor whimpered, equal parts out of fear and need. As if to silence him, RK900’s fingers slid deeper into his mouth, nearly prodding at his throat, and started moving back and forth along his tongue. With herculean effort, Connor focused on its face, hoping to beg for mercy this time, and froze at the sight that met him.

RK900’s lips were wrapped around the valves that made up the internal part of his pump regulator. It held Connor’s eye, looking for all the world like the cat that got to the cream, as it sucked on the biocomponent, pushing it deeper into its mouth. When it pulled it back, the clear container in the center of the part was noticeably emptier than it ought to be. The android lapped at the blue blood oozing out, eyes hooded, tongue obscene. Connor whined high in his throat, feeling his insides clench.

With a particularly vicious thrust, Sixty yelled, tensing and spilling inside of Connor a second time, nearly instantly followed by fifty-four angling Connor’s hips and pushing deeper than before, hitting oversensitive spots he’d been unaware of. It came with a growl, fingers clawing at Connor’s thighs. He could _feel_ their collective cum filling him, leaking between them, smearing down their lengths and his spread thighs. He was helpless, overstuffed on two ends and gaping and broken in the middle, inching ever closer to shutdown - 

The pump regulator grazed the edge of its port, damp connectors sparking at proximity, and with a _click_ that echoed in Connor’s ears, it slid home.

The edges of his vision whited out, entire body spasming with the relief. The positive feedback came amplified, echoing throughout him and rendering him nearly unconscious as he rode out the high. Every wire in his body coursed with euphoria like he’d never felt before, mixing and warring with the panic and dread that the ebbing pleasure had been keeping at bay. 

After what felt like eons, he finally began to come down. His asshole gaped, empty and dripping. It hurt, in a way he’d never felt pain before; he could hardly call that memory _pain,_ now. Whatever it was RK900 had installed in him forever changed him. He would never experience his body in the same way again. It felt like becoming deviant all over again, except much more visceral and immediate.

The straps around his head loosened and his teeth caught on the metal ring as someone removed the gag. His jaw remained slack, harsh pants puffing overheated air out of him. Despair swelled and crested, and he felt hot tears spill from his eyes. He was - broken.

A hand, mocking in its gentleness, lifted his head. Sixty leaned in and licked a tear track off his cheek. When it pulled back, Connor registered five new figures standing in a loose half-circle behind it, all RK800 like him. Dread gripped his insides in an iron vice.

“My mission is to show you your place, you deviant slut,” it said, low and self-assured. “And unlike you, I always accomplish my mission.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope... this was worth your time? man, i don't even know what to say after a fic like this. Definitely went off the deep end, there. I'm hoping to keep writing and my usual MO is nowhere near this edgy so stay tuned, i guess? (: and hit those kudos on your way out if you liked reading.
> 
> i also lurk on [twitter](https://twitter.com/chromaberrant). Snippets of other fics might happen. c;


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